Life During Wartime

Sometimes I wonder what my mum imagined her children would be like as she cradled her two angelic, albeit slightly chubby and slightly chinese-looking babies.

And then I wonder how wrong she got it.

I'm pretty sure she never factored in the complex fight-(lack of)apology mechanics that took approx. 20 years, 3 consoles and what I'm extrapolating is nearing over a hundred pirated games to perfect.

The sequence of events is usually predictable.


STAGE 1: SHOTS FIRED
There is a disagreement, usually mild, that gets blown out of proportion due to one party's extreme stubbornness, unwillingness to see reason and inability to converse at appropriate volumes when frustrated, and the other's occasional sense of self-righteousness (BUT IM USUALLY RIGHT), permanent need to react to loud people with sarcasm, and an unfortunate knee-jerk reflex to aim below the emotional belt when threatened. Note that it doesn't matter who started what first, both parties are victims here.

Obviously.


STAGE 2: COLD WAR
This is usually followed by an undefined period of cease-fire, unnatural spells of silence and prolonged patches of 'this room isn't big enough for the two of us'-ness. There is no remedy, and the stubborn refusal to see reason awkwardness just needs to be waited out. Extreme patience advised.


STAGE 3: NEGOTIATIONS
After a stupid an appropriate amount of time, one party or the other will test the waters and attempt communications. If the other party is agreeable, a response will be had and we proceed down the list. If not, return to stage 3 and repeat. At no point is mum or dad the UN to get involved - by now I think we've established that the UN is pretty much pointless in conflicts anyway.


STAGE 4: PEACE TREATY
Ignore stage 4. Signing a treaty requires acquiescence, which in turn requires acknowledgement of wrongs. Like that's ever happening.

Sorry mum.

STAGE 5: RECOVERY
Also known as the 'we will sweep everything under the rug along with all the other accumulated slights we've never solved and then plonk an elephant on the pile to flatten it slightly' manoeuvre. Bribing to be done according to necessity. Conversation will be touch and go, and confined to coded references to sporting events, inane inquiries about 'your day' and the redirection of ire at innocent (<- debatable) virtual bystanders.

Decoded comms included in brackets for your benefit.

*Yes this is in lieu of an actual apology. No, we don't need therapy.

I think.

We're kind of in between stages by my count. Though it seems to be heading, albeit slowly, from 3 in the direction of stage 5. He's a pain in the ass, and I can be worse, though as chick-flicky as it sounds, we're pretty much the only option each other has in the sibling department, damn the parents for not providing spares. Apologies are overrated anyway.

If there be much swearing, shouting, explosions and sounds of men dying violent deaths, that's mum's sign that every thing is going to be a-ok.

I do pity her sometimes.

Nat out.